The Whole Wheat Entrepreneur

During my teen years, many of my friends got their first jobs. Some went to work for McDonald's while others found employment at the local grocery store. Admiring their newly acquired cash-flow, I was eager to join this jingling-pocket club. But I had something else in mind—something more…me. I was going to start my own business—be an entrepreneur like my mom who owned and operated her own family day-care center in our home. Mom was her own boss—she set the rules and determined her income. I wanted this too.

So after looking into several possibilities, I dove, hands-first (literally) into a business I could do from home. I started my own bread-making business. Mom had a wheat grinder (and a seemingly endless supply of wheat), a bread mixer, and a killer 100% whole-wheat bread recipe to boot. How could I go wrong?

Before you could say, show-me-the-money, I’d taken out an ad in my town’s local paper and was in business. By week’s end I had a few orders. Beyond excited, I was mentally polishing the cherry red Camaro-of-my-dreams which would soon be parked in front of my house.

Life was good.

Saturday came--bake day--and with mom loosely hovering, I got busy. But baking bread took way longer than I’d ever imagined (that dang dough was incredibly sticky). Mom, and even The Little Red Hen, made this bread baking thing look way easier than it was. Not only that, but it sucked up the better part of my one-and-only Saturday in the week.

Before sunset I’d delivered all four loaves of 100% whole-wheat bread to my customers and had roughly eight dollars in my pocket (and I don’t recall hearing a single jingle). Mom, in her mercy, didn’t charge me for the cost of the ingredients, or even the gas to deliver my goods, but she sure-as-heck made me clean up the horrific mess I’d made in her kitchen (the woman has her merciful limits and a kid-induced mess was one).

This same scenario continued for only a few more weeks. I never renewed the newspaper ad and never attracted that customer loyalty necessary for ongoing orders (which, honestly, was okay by me). My bread-baking business fell flat and I moved on to my next teenage adventure— house-cleaning if I remember right (never mind that I had trouble keeping my own bedroom clean).

That cherry red Camaro was never parked in front of my house.

But…I never lost that fire within to build a business, to be my own boss, to set my own goals, dreams, and expectations.

Over the years my entrepreneurship has delved into many directions. I’ve had many home-based businesses (one of which kept my very young family in food an entire school-year while my ex-husband finished college). In the past decade or so, I’ve focused my entrepreneurial endeavors towards my writing, publishing a newspaper column, eight novels, and now this blog. At this time, I also work a day-job (still trying to keep my now-not-so-young-and-much-larger family in food) ironically, as a bakery manager, overseeing, among other things, the baking of some very delicious 100% whole wheat bread. My entrepreneurial mindset and work ethic, applied to my position as bakery manager have helped build sales percent increase into the double digits over last year. Needless to say, my boss is very happy.

But am I happy?

I’d have to say that I’m a work in progress. I have an amazing husband who is my best friend. I have nine beautiful and healthy children. And every day off from the day job, I spend writing--creating--because this is my passion.

Some might call this craziness, but I like to look at it as Terry Orlick, world-renowned leader in the applied field of sport psychology, mental training, and excellence, and a former gymnastics champion and coach. He sums up my feelings perfectly:

“The heart of human excellence often begins to beat when you discover a pursuit that absorbs you, frees you, challenges you, or gives you a sense of meaning, joy, or passion.”

My heart beats every day…for my family, and for my writing.

They are my passion.

What is yours?

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel,The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. She has eaten many 'a loaf of 100% whole wheat bread over the years, but none as delicious as her mom's. 

My Happy List

I love, love, love John Denver. I’ll never forget that day in the early 70’s (I was maybe 9 or 10) when my older brother Rob had me totally convinced that John “Country Boy” Denver was our long-lost cousin (after all, he’s blond like us, right?). Maybe I just wanted to believe! Anyway, for that half-hour or so, I was one happy kid!

The other day while sitting in my car messing with my cell phone camera, I captured an interesting image, instantly reminding me of one of my favorite Denver songs—Sunshine on My Shoulders—and this fleeting moment of childhood happiness.

I’ve always been on Team Cup-Half-Full and try to look at the brighter side of life, and not because I live in some sort of La-La Land. Oh, no…I’ve lived through many ’a dark day but make a conscious choice every day to turn my face toward the sunshine—toward happiness.

So with this is mind I’d like to share with you (in no particular order) 10 things in this life that make me incredibly happy (my family not included. They are perched at the tippy-top of my Happy List).

Baby Faces: There’s a reason I have nine kids. “Nuf said.

The Mountains: I grew up at the base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I skied them every winter and camped in them every summer. Mountain air makes me feel alive.

The Beach: My love of this happy-place is fairly new. I suppose it’s what happens when you marry a self-proclaimed beach bum. I still love my mountains, but it doesn’t take many trips to the beach to be converted.

Books: This is a love that wasn’t developed until my mid-twenties. As I nursed my babies, I read. We were both nourished as we entered a new world. And for the record, my favorite book is Anne of Green Gables. Molly Chambers, the main character from my first published novel, Molly Mormon? was a total mesh of Anne Shirley and Yours Truly, down to the tips of her strawberry blond hair.

The BBC: Downton Abbey, Call the Midwife, and anything Austenesque. My little sis says it’s in our English roots. Must be!

Diet Coke and Hershey’s Special Dark Chocolate: I’m combining these two together just because. They both bring me way more happiness than they should…so much so that they’re mentioned in the acknowledgements of my novel, Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale.

Music: Most of my favorite music (including Mr. Denver’s) comes from the 70’s and 80’s. Why mess with perfection? Paco and I love to attend concerts and in the past few years have seen Earth Wind and Fire, Michael McDonald, Boz Scaggs, Donald Fagen (of Steely Dan), Rod Stewart, Stevie Nicks, Air Supply, Little River Band, and we even dipped into the 90’s and saw The Backstreet Boys.

Dancing: My memories of dancing reach back to the 70’s with American Bandstand and my sisters. I was on drill/dance teams in both high school and college. Today, Paco and I love to dance salsa.

My Dog: I’m not sure I’ve loved any non-human as much as I love this little guy, and would venture to say, I love him more than most humans. He’s part of my family—part of my heart. Mi Panchito!

And last but not least…

Writing: What can I say? There have been times I’ve had a love/hate relationship with it, times I haven’t written much, times when it’s about all I did, and even a brief period when it was taken away from me (long story for another day). All in all, writing is me, my purpose—something I have to do.

What is your sunshine--what brings you happiness? Please share in the comments.

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel,The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. Not only does she have a Happy List, she has a Happy Place...and urges everyone to find theirs. 

Our Amazing Youth (or, The Anti-"Twerk")

Only a short month ago I’d never heard the word “twerk’ and if pressured to speculate on its meaning, I might have guessed it to be some sort of twerp/jerk hybrid. Well, pop culture’s wrecking-ball-of-a-media frenzy gave me an education I’m not sure I ever wanted (and for the record, I like my definition better). Combine that with a recent local high school’s fatal stabbing and one might begin to wonder what’s happening to our youth.

Of course, it only takes a few deep breaths, and a good look around our neighborhoods, high schools, colleges, churches, communities (local as well as online), and yes, even the media, to see that humanity and good will is alive and well amongst our young people.

Take the recent buzz of Joey Prusak, the 19-year-old manager of a suburban Minneapolis Dairy Queen (okay, this fact alone impresses the freckles off me). After serving a blind customer, Prusak notices the man drop a twenty dollar bill. The lady next in line quickly snatches up the bill, tucking it in her purse while the blind man remains oblivious. When Prusak asks the woman to return the money to the blind customer and she refuses, the teen refuses to serve her, requesting that she leave. End of story? Nope! Prusak then takes $20 from his own wallet and gives it to the blind customer. The entire event is witnessed and chronicled by another customer and sent in an email to Prusak’s boss, which is pinned to the restaurant’s bulletin board, which is posted online by a fellow employee, which goes viral. Aaahh… Free press at its finest! Read more of Joey's story HERE.

McKenna Wright finished her senior year on top of the world. The energetic blonde completed a successful term as student body president of her Southern Utah high school, played the lead in several school productions, and wrapped up the year by earning a 4.0 GPA and valedictorian honors. With every scholarship available to her, McKenna chose to first conquer another challenge—teaching English half-way across the world…in China. According to her mom, “McKenna chose to go to China because she wanted to serve a humanitarian mission and feel like she was doing something that would last.” Something tells me McKenna has just begun to make a lasting impression and leave her enduring influence in this great big world.

Then there’s my good buddy, Robert Ybarra who works with me at the store. The two of us love talking all-things music. I’ll never forget the day he helped me dip chocolate strawberries in the bakery as we gushed over our favorite Beatles White Album songs (Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da and I Will for me, Martha, My Dear for him “because the piano intro is amazing, and Paul hides the name of his ex-girlfriend who the song is about and replaces it with the name of his dog, not to mention the orchestration had tuba and I played that in band.”) Robert could be my son and knows all of this and the lyrics to Rocky Raccoon—I LOVE this kid! And I love that he can not only engage in conversation with me (theoretically a middle-age lady, if you insist on being theoretical) but that he’s engaged in life and his future. When he’s not working at the store, he’s a full-time college student at the University of Houston, and works a second part-time job at the mall.

Twenty-three year old Alyssa recently headed south from her home and family in Michigan to commence the first of eight years enlisted with the US Army. Upon completion of her training she will be known as an Army Combat Medic. Not only do Medics, like Alyssa, provide medical treatment to wounded soldiers, they are a staple in the Army as every squad is required to have one in attendance while on any hazardous mission. They live and work with the soldiers day in and out, conducting sick calls and monitoring all aspects of the soldier’s health. As an American, and especially, as a mother, my heart swells with emotion and a sense of pride whenever I see a young person in uniform. As the mother of nine, I realize that this is someone’s daughter or son, sister or brother, and often the case, someone’s mommy or daddy, putting their life on the line to ensure the security, rights and freedom we enjoy as Americans. I hope we never take this sacrifice for granted. Thank you, Alyssa, and the countless others serving our country. God bless you and yours.

And then there’s my son, Josh, almost at the half-way mark of the two-year mission he’s serving for our church. He was assigned to serve in southern California. Josh isn’t paid for these two years of service, and as a matter of fact, worked several of his teenage years as a cook for Popeye’s Chicken to save up for it. Every Monday I receive and email from him, and today he said, “We were able to help Sister “Smith” (a lady in our ward) clean up her backyard. When we got there it looked like a battleground. But after a few hours of hard work from several missionaries, it was looking great! It was really neat because we could tell it really made a big difference for her and her family. I love service!” And I love that my son has developed a love for serving others…because this is how we truly learn Christ-like love in this life. For more info on a day in the life of a missionary, click HERE.

Yup, humanity and good will is alive and well amongst our young people. Look around. Oh, you may find a random "twerk" here or there, but I promise you won’t have to look far to find our not-so-hidden treasure--young people everywhere striving to make this world a better place!

 

 

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. She thinks that the silly goof-balls of the world should stop being such "twerks" and will continue to use this word in this way until the silly goof-balls of the world stop "dancing" silly.

Half Way to Moving Out

I recently read the following Facebook post by a mommy friend:

Today was…today...  “Jacob” turned nine today, and after getting in trouble for shooting a dart at his sister’s face, he felt the need to remind me that since he is now nine, he is half-way to moving out.

This made me both sigh and smile. Why are kids always so eager to grow up and move out? And (dare I admit) why am I sometimes so eager for them to move on with their life? It’s a crazy battle that plays out in all of our minds, depending on our mood and the number of “poop-head,” “booger-brains,” and “butt-face” labels slung about the house on any given day. I call these “white flag” days, and they generally end with Little Caesar’s pizza for the kids and a long, hot bath for me.

Now I have about as much expertise on this subject as the next middle-aged mom. I have nine “Jacobs” of my own, four of whom have already left home, with five more to go. Two live half-way across the country and two live half-way across town. Facebook, text messaging, email, and the good ol' telephone help, but I miss my "Jocobs" who have moved on, every single day.

 

As for the ones at home... Still too many "booger-brains" being flicked willy-nilly around our place for me to mourn the prospect of their leaving, but Paco and I do our best to deal with it all, one "booger-brain" a time. There are good days and there are white-flag days. Some days, one of our "Jacobs" figuratively stand at the front door with bags packed, prophesying impending freedom. Oh, the mixed emotions...

From the perspective of both parent and child (having lived both sides of this), leaving home is both wonderful and horrible. You have the freedom to fly, but now you have to flap your own dang wings—generally, a dilemma at one point or another.

 

As one prepares to set out into the wild blue yonder, society will be full of all sorts of helpful suggestions and conventional advice to commence this growing-up and moving-on endeavor--learn to balance a checkbook, change a tire, cook ramen noodles, blah, blah, blah... That's all important. But what I'd like to offer is the not-so-conventional advice to start our little "Jacob's" off on life's path. Here goes...

 

(Disclaimer--I take credit for none of these...but they all make me smile.)

 

Therapy is expensive. Bubble wrap is cheap. You choose.

 

To make a long story short, don't tell it.

 

If you find yourself in a hole, stop digging.

 

A penny saved is...not much...so...

 

The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over, and stick it back in your pocket.

 

Unlike people, laundry should be segregated by color.

 

Two wrongs don't make a right, but three lefts do.

 

If you get a paper on your windshield that says "parking fine" it doesn't mean you did a good job.

 

Don't bite the hand that looks dirty.

 

And lastly...

 

Life is a mystery to be lived, not a problem to be solved.

 

 

So slow down. Enjoy the mystery. And did I mention, slow down???

 

One of my kiddos turns eighteen in a few months, and I'm already grieving this prospect. When he does leave, the balance will shift to more kids grown and gone than at home. Not sure I'm ready yet for this, but you know how the old saying goes: Ready or not...

 

 

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. The day her first son left home she cried for an hour straight, ate an entire box of fudge-covered Oreos...solo...then took in two stray dogs. When they refused to answer to the name, Preston or Punky Doodle she cried some more. Today, she finds herself half-way to an empty nest.

 

 

 

Sisters and Blisters

I was raised in a “Brady Bunch” family (minus Alice, the maid-of-my-childhood-dreams). So, as the story goes, my mom (a very lovely lady…with three kids), married my dad (with two kids of his own), and then they had three more. If you do the math, that makes eight kids. And of the eight, seven of us were girls. For reals. Seven female siblings under one roof. My brother’s personal estrogen nightmare.

Yup, never a lack of Bonne Bell Lip Smackers or Love’s Baby Soft aroma wafting through our bathroom on any given school-day morning. And never a lack of sisters arguing over previously mentioned yummy-smelling (and quite-possibly edible and life sustaining) teen and pre-teen beauty items. Mom always told us that some day we’d be best friends. In my hyper-hormonal, adolescent frenzy, I didn’t believe it.

Oh, sure, some moments we sisters were each other’s besties—dressing up and taking “modeling shots” (no selfies or duck lips for us), Saturday boogie mornings with American Bandstand and Soul Train, or summers gathered around the TV tuned to General Hospital. (Luke? Seriously? I was always Team Scotty.)

But some moments we were more-than eager to take each other down. I remember (and quite possibly participated in) a few cat fights amongst the sisters. Where I inflicted the most sisterly damage (and perhaps missed my true calling in the realm of girl’s softball pitching, or maybe horseshoes) involved my throwing abilities.

On one occasion, I remember being so furious with my sister Shari, that I grabbed a baby bottle (full of milk) and threw the lactose-loaded missile at her sorry-butt little-sister face. (Seriously, she’s gorgeous. Just reliving the moment.) Well, Shari, obviously the smarter and more agile sister, ducked, leaving my loaded missile to fly at will…clear through the huge picture window at the front of our house. Oops.

(This is a  pic of me and Shari with the cute Mexican exchange student. There's a reason he's standing between us!)

 

Another of my throwing/tantrum memories (target: “Shari’s face” again) involved, um…well, a hockey puck. Yeah… And this time it hit her. In the chin. Seriously, what was I thinking? Well, clearly, I wasn’t. It’s amazing my sister still speaks to me (or speaks at all, for that matter). You’ll be happy to know that I’ve replaced throwing solid objects when angry, to screaming at the top of my lungs while driving my car…alone, of course. It helps. I think.

Aaaahhh, my younger years…

Life was complicated.

Life was simple.

And now life gets even. Because now I’m the mother of many daughters (five, to be exact). My two oldest have already passed through the I-want-to-throw-solid-objects-at-your-sorry-butt-face phase, and have actually become the best of friends (as I prophesied years back).

Now, if I could just convince the remaining three.

 

Maybe this poem I composed for my own sisters will help.

 

Of Sisters and Blisters

(Dedicated to the Magnificent Seven)

Sisters, like blisters, cause pain now and then.

With a rub the wrong way, she gets under your skin.

She’s always around. There’s just no place to hide.

And worst of all, Momma and Dad take her side.

She hogs the hot water, and borrows your clothes.

And Saturday night she dates all the cute beaus.

But just when you think that your world’s caving in,

All it takes from that girl is a hug and a grin.

She knows all your faults, but can put them aside,

To help build you up. To fill you with pride.

Now, as for the blister, it’s healed before long.

And in that same spot, the skin becomes strong.

So next time you notice a blister or two,

Just call up your sister, and say, “I love you!”

(Tami and Shari Today--Sister Survivors of The Early Years!!! Love you, Sis...and your chin looks maaahvelous!)

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Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. She is a survivor of the early years of sisterhood, and in no way condones the throwing of loaded baby milk bottles or hockey pucks for any reason whatsoever. Word.

Who We Are

“What we can or cannot do, what we consider possible or impossible, is rarely a function of our true capability. It’s more likely a function of our beliefs about who we are.”—Anthony Robbins

At first glance, many things in life seem impossible—climbing the mountain, finishing the marathon, losing the excess weight, writing a book, finding that life-time love… The list could go on and on, especially when that demon, self-doubt, hovers on our shoulder and whispers “little uglies” into our ear to gnaw at our soul and halt us into a state of mediocrity, or worse, self-deprecation.

Thirty two years ago, at the age of seventeen when I said goodbye to my first love, Paco, from the airport in Lima, Peru (which you can read all about HERE), I would have thought it impossible for the two of us to ever have a life together. There were simply too many obstacles creating self-doubt and gnawing at my soul...most obviously, the fact that he lived in South America, with no plans of ever living anywhere but his beloved Peru, and I lived in North America, where I planned to remain.

 

 

Paco sent me a letter soon after I left Peru, but it remained unanswered. At that moment, the possibility of our future together halted (well, at least for twenty-eight years). Yup, quite possibly one of my greatest mistakes ever.

Thank goodness, a kind and loving Father in Heaven knows our capabilities—knows exactly who we are—and sees a much bigger picture. A lot happened between 1981 and 2009. Through many ups and downs, I grew stronger and eventually began to believe in myself. Reconnecting with Paco only served to help me understand my true potential.

And yet, the task to actually be together seemed daunting.

Our first hurdle was to tackle US immigration, and let me tell you, the LEGAL immigration process is neither simple nor swift. From the day we married, until the day Paco and the girls entered the US (all chronicled HERE), it took 15 months and thousands of dollars. Unable to afford an attorney, I did all the paperwork myself—no simple task.

 

 

I’ll never forget the day Paco and the girls finally arrived! We’d reached our happily-ever-after, right?

Reality check.

This was just the beginning.

But we were together…finally.

So my amazing husband, who had created a life and career for himself in Peru, was required to start over entirely. With a degree in banking administration, sixteen-years in the banking industry, another seven as an insurance executive, and nearly twenty years overall working in a managerial capacity, he was running into walls in every direction. It seemed that every employer in the US wanted someone with work experience…in the US!

My Dear One, eager to work, wherever it may be, who’d given up suits and ties and a 14^th floor office with a view in Mira Flores, took the first job offered to him in the United States of America. He became a night stocker in a grocery store.

As the oldest on the crew, his co-workers lovingly referred to him as Papi. Physically, this was a difficult time for Paco. (Can you say aching knees and lower back?) Emotionally this was a difficult time for me. I felt incredible guilty and responsible. How could I have brought him here to work in this capacity when he had his own secretary and chauffeur in Peru? He’d given up everything to be with me and I was certain I’d ruined, if not his life, certainly his career.

Those little uglies were doing their best (or worst) on me.

Paco, however, maintained an intense belief in himself and his capabilities. For now, he was Papi—best night stocker on the crew, with the best stories, jokes, and work ethic. His faith was unwavering.

“This is only temporary,” he’d say. “A stepping stone to something greater.”

He was correct.

The night stocking position led into a sales/chef position within the store, which gave him work experience within the United States. After a year, when he once again applied to various banks within the area, Paco was quickly hired as a teller (and actually received two job offers from two separate banks within the same day).

Today he works as a Personal Banker for one of the most recognized and respected banks in the country, breaking sales records on a regular basis. He is once again back in an office and wearing a suit and tie.

 

 

“What we can or cannot do, what we consider possible or impossible, is rarely a function of our true capability. It’s more likely a function of our beliefs about who we are.”—Anthony Robbins

Paco not only knew he was a banker, he knew that with determination and hard work, he’d be the best at whatever job he did. He has held an intense belief of who he is from his earliest job venture as a teen selling chickens to neighborhood ladies from the back of his car, to stocking grocery store shelves in the middle of the night, to managing hundreds of employees.

But most of all, he believes in us.

What more could I ask?

 

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. Along with a fierce belief in herself, Tamra believes in fairies, half-faeries, and magic of all sorts--especially the kind found in books!

Kid Soup

I know, I know… The title makes me both cringe and smile in the same breath, but it's lodged into my slightly-twisted brain and won’t leave. Let’s just roll with it, eh? I’ll have you know, however, that there is some logic behind it (and no, nothing to do with the impending zombie apocalypse).

 

 

When my kiddos were little, we often read the old folk tale, Stone Soup, about a weary and hungry traveler with no means, who decides to prepare a meal by boiling a pot of water and tossing in a stone. Of course, this piques the curiosity of nearly every passer-by, who also toss in an ingredient—a carrot, a potato, an onion, etc.—until voila, a delicious soup is prepared. 

I’m a lot like that traveler. Not so much the hungry part unless you count today—day one (yet again) of mine and Paco’s latest diet—but the weary part, for sure. I seem to be continuously exhausted, and for the majority of any given day, I have one looming question on my mind: What-the-heck am I gonna make for dinner?

Although I’ve never considered starting with a rock, I have been known to toss in many’a random ingredient—each with its own unique, special, and sometimes unexpected flavor—to make a delicious soup or casserole for my gang. And somehow (for the most part) this hodge-podge of ingredients generally turns out pretty dang yummy.

And just as the weary traveler, Paco and I (the baker and the banker) have combined into our “pot,” a variety of personalities and characteristics—each unique, special, and some with an unexpected flavor or attribute—to make up this incredible blend of people we call our children.

Let me introduce them…

 

 

DETERMINATION came into my life 28 years ago and was the first of many to teach me about motherhood. Once a shy kid, he’s now a social rock star (when he wants) and in many respects an extension of me. “D” started writing his first novel at 16, and today has approximately eight finished manuscripts—two published, with another under review. He currently teaches junior high English, and will do so until the day his writing sustains him…which will be soon!

 

 

AMBITION arrived a year later and let my peaceful “D” know who was in charge. When she wanted something, she’d tackle it head on (in the early years, including “D” himself). Not only was “A” my earliest walker, she also taught herself how to ride a bike, do back handsprings, play the guitar, was the first to graduate from college and is now looking into grad school. Her strong will has served her well!

 

 

LOVELY is not only beautiful on the outside, but radiates that same loveliness within. Her kind and gentle heart serve her well in her own role as mommy. There's nothing that brings me more satisfaction as a mother than watching “L” mother her own boys—my grandsons. I can't help but beam inside at this sight.

 

 

STRENGTH is not only packed with muscles, but has a rock solid core, and I’m not referring to his physique, but rather his countenance or inner strength. He has competed internationally on the U.S. Junior Men’s Powerlifting Team, and can probably bench press a buffalo, but would tell you his greatest accomplishment is the two-year mission he’s currently serving. “S” is our gentle giant.

 

 

TALENT is oozing with abilities that never cease to amaze us all. He’s self-taught in both piano and art, and has honed his talent for acquiring requests from teenage girls desiring their portrait via his mad sketching skills. “T” has taken the art of flirting to a cultivated, whole new, and very literal level.

 

 

BELLISIMA (beauty) is my beautiful Peruvian rose. She came into my life as an 11-year-old and has literally blossomed before my eyes. As every rose (and every teenager), she can be as soft and delicate as a rose petal, but if not handled properly, the prick of a thorn might result. Most of all, “B” is strong—always able to withstand life’s storms as her roots grow deep and her limbs stretch far.

 

 

INTEGRITY radiates the qualities of honesty and moral principals. He is growing into a man of order and responsibility. “I” likes to be on time, and prepared—very much the boy scout that he is, but knows how to chill out and cut-loose when the mood strikes. He’s been known to have us all holding our gusts, laughing at the dinner table, and can do a pretty mean “worm” on any given dance floor.

 

 

CHARISMA is the spice of our great, big, integrated pot of kid soup. She is capable of being ten places at once, and charms, as well as entertains everyone simultaneously. “C” is proficient at maneuvering any given course of events into the direction she desires, so we believe inevitable success will be hers in a career in politics, Hollywood or both. Hey, if Arnold can do it…

 

 

And lastly, we add KINDNESS to the “pot”—our little dab of sweetness who’s always concerned with everyone and their feelings. The warmth of her hugs are healing, and the radiation of her smile, contagious; however, we were quick to discover that the combination of KINDNESS and CHARISMA could be a lethal duo.

 

 

There you have it—the baker and the banker’s kid soup via their prominent characteristics. I neglected to list some of their less-than-desirable personas—the screamer, the wall-puncher, the time bomb, the whiner, the crier, miss moody, etc… We’ll save these for another day…or not.

So if you're making your own kid soup, what would be the ingredients?

 

 

Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. She absolutely adores her concoction of kid soup, but on a rainy day prefers clam chowder and a good book.

Where is your "Happy Place"?

I’ll be in my happy place…

This is my favorite phrase—especially at the end of a long day in the bakery when my feet are screaming to be soaked, or elevated, or massaged, or tranquilized,  and my brain is begging to shift into that passive “mush” mode—you know, that don’t-make-me-think-beyond-turning-a-page-or-channel state of mind.

Aaaahhh, the happy place… Mine is perhaps the most hideous looking, yet comfortable love seat known to mankind—an offering from a neighbor who said, “take it, puh-leeze—it’s yours!” This pillowy, happy place love seat is nestled in the corner of my bedroom next to a desk housing my dinosaur computer—the one not hooked up to the Internet to distract me. You see, not only do I often lay in a vegetative state in my happy place reading or watching my favorite collection of DVD’s (can you say, How many movie adaptations of Austen novels can the BBC possibly produce?), I also do all of my writing there.

 

 

So now that I’ve fessed up, and disappointed you all with the revelation of my true-to-life happy place, I’d like to know what you envision when you think of the words, “happy place.” It will likely be different for everyone, but we can all dream...

Soaking in a Jacuzzi, sipping a tall, cold, diet Coke (or insert your beverage of choice)? <Nodding>

 

 

Kicking back in a soft recliner watching the latest episode of, I dunno… Duck Dynasty or Downton Abbey perhaps? (Yes, please. Downton Abbey.)

 

 

Strolling through the park, slurping the sides of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream heaped into a waffle cone. (Uh, huh.)

 

 

Sitting behind the wheel of a red Ferrari, with no place to go and nuthin’ to do…but cruise the countryside? (Yup, yup…keep dreamin’!)

 

 

Lounging on a white sandy beach…in Maui…with your honey by your side? (Now we’re talkin’!)

 

 

Okay, maybe I got carried away. But most of us associate a happy place with an actual location. Well, I have a proposal…

Why don’t we make our Happy Place a state of mind? A feeling? Someplace we can go to no matter where in the world we are or what trials we may be experiencing.

When I make this mental shift, I can find my happy place in so many “locations” in my mind…and totally transform my physical and emotional state.

I can find my happy place…

…in the smell of my grandson hair.

 

Or the memory of my parents dancing.

I can be in my happy place whenever I'm by my sweetheart's side,

or surrounded by my children,

or watching them surrounded by theirs.

I can even find my happy place in times of uncertainty--times when life seems to flip me upside down--because with faith, and the knowledge that God is always by my side, I will eventually land on my feet. I always do.

So where is YOUR "Happy Place"?



Tamra Torero is Wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Bakery Manager, author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her son, Preston Norton. She has discovered the hard (or perhaps all-to-easy) way that writing in her happy place can be less-than productive in the reclined position (yes, it's possible but not recommended) if you want to remain awake. Sometimes she doesn't.